


Proposition

by Anonymous



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While Klink's away, a new kommandant takes over the camp. He has a proposition too dangerous for Hogan to refuse.





	1. The New Arrival

“While Kommandant Klink is away, I will be acting as the camp kommandant. Berlin sent me to ensure that Stalag 13’s illustrious record stayed intact without the Colonel. Know this: any escapes, even attempts, will be punished to the full capacity -”

Colonel Robert Hogan tuned out after the fifth “illustrious Third Reich”, but his focus was still turned on the dark-haired major lecturing in front of the unimpressed prisoners. The man was tall, a few inches taller than Hogan himself, with glacier-cold eyes, pale skin, and thin lips. Hogan had immediately pegged him as a bureaucrat trying to jump up the ranks, using Klink’s departure as a way to prove himself to Berlin officials and buck for a promotion, but there was something about the man that was deeply unsettling. Even the other men seemed to notice it, judging by the eerie silence during the long speech, when ordinarily there would be at least a few half-hearted jeers.

“That is all. Dismissed!” Major Gerhard Hassler gave a crisp salute to Sergeant Schultz, who responded with a decidedly less crisp one, and the prisoners disbanded. Hogan remained slouched in his position at the end of the line, unsurprised when his team crowded around him.

“Sir?” Kinch said quietly from his right-hand side. “What do you think?”

“Likes the sound of his own voice too much, does that man,” Newkirk said with a bite in his voice. 

“Yeah, I thought Klink was bad!” Carter joined in. 

“I don’t know,” Hogan said, his eyes not leaving the major talking to the guard stationed in front of Klink’s office. “Something seems off about him.”

“Think we’re being played, Colonel?” Kinch asked. 

“Maybe,” Hogan said, then released his gaze and gave a quick glance around with a smile. “Might be getting paranoid in my old age.”

That led to a riot of jokes about how old he was getting - which Hogan did _not_ need reminding, thank you - and they drifted off. Kinch remained, staring knowingly at his CO. “You want me to call London?”

“Thanks, Kinch,” Hogan clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s see what they know about this Major Hassler.”

The camp was unusually quiet that morning and afternoon. Kinch had disappeared into the tunnel to send word to London, while the rest of the men half-heartedly played gin or darned socks with more holes than sock. Hogan himself sat at the head of the table, sipping tepid coffee and musing on the new arrival. Klink had claimed he was taking a well-needed vacation, and even Hogan’s best efforts hadn’t shaken anything loose from him. If he were on some top-secret mission, which was doubtful with Klink, Hogan was sure he would have gotten something from him. Major Hassler gave every appearance of a young upstart major just itching to get his hands on something to prove himself to the generals. Hogan had already spread the word around to the guys to keep things on the down-low; if Major Hassler was as eager to show off as Hogan thought he was, a few prisoners “shot trying to escape” would be just what he needed to make the most of his camp-side visit.

But still. Something nagged at him and he kept worrying at it like a tooth missing. Something just felt off about the guy, and Hogan could not put his finger on it. Hell, maybe he was getting old, he thought to himself wryly. He felt a long way from the cocky flyboy who signed up for the war and left with a smile on his face and an itch in his shoes. These days he mostly woke up slowly, aching from missions gone wrong the nights before, and a bone-deep weariness that he shoved aside for the sake of his men. Maybe he was just getting paranoid.

“Penny for ‘em?” Newkirk said, laying down his cards. “Gin.”

“You cheated!” Carter exclaimed, looking over the spread. 

Newkirk shot him a disgusted look. “Of course I did, Carter.”

“What did you expect?” LeBeau piped up from stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious.

“Nothing worth that much, Newkirk,” Hogan said with a smile. There was no need to worry the men, not until he knew more. His eyes slid over to the tunnel entrance while the others bickered good-naturedly over the card game. All he could do now is wait to see what London had to say about this new major. 

 

“Colonel Hogan?” Sergeant Schultz asked gently. “Colonel Hogan?”

Hogan made a noise between a moan and a growl. “Whassit?”

“Colonel Hogan, Major Hassler requests your presence.”

Hogan sat up, blinking and yawning. He glanced at the watch at his bedside. “Now? Schultz, it’s 0300 in the morning. Tell him I’ll talk to him at morning roll call.” He wrapped himself back up in the blankets and turned to face the wall, already drifting back off to sleep.

“Please, Colonel Hogan,” Sergeant Schultz said, and even in his tired state Hogan noticed the fear in the man’s voice. “He wants to see you immediately.”

“Fine, Schultz, I’m up. Give me a minute.”

Schultz nodded gratefully, leaving the colonel to his privacy. As Hogan slowly pulled on his slacks and a clean shirt, he wondered what on earth the new commander was thinking. Prisoner escape? None of his boys would try - or needed to, for that matter - but it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that the new Kommandant would manufacture an escape attempt. Hogan felt his fingers grow cold. If that were the case, had the kommandant had one of his men taken? Shot in the dark while he was sleeping?

Worried by the direction his thoughts were taking, he hurriedly snatched his bomber jacket and opened the door. “I’m ready. What’s this about Schultz?”

“I know nothing,” Sergeant Schultz said, and for once, Hogan believed it. The man seemed honestly perplexed why he was being ordered to grab the senior prison officer from his bed in the wee hours of the morning. 

“Has there been anyone else woken up? Anything happen tonight?” Hogan interrogated him. For one, he didn’t bother to sweet-talk or make a game of it. This was too important.

Schultz seemed to sense his fear and quickly shook his head. “Nein. Everything has been quiet.”

Hogan felt a wave of relief hit him as he mounted the steps to the kommandant’s office. “Thanks, Schultz.”

“Ja, bitte.”

The long military building was divided into three parts: the main office, where the charming Helga worked, the Kommandant’s office, and beyond that, the Kommandant’s personal quarters. Tonight, the main office was dark and gloomy, the only illumination coming from the shaft of light around the private office door. Hogan pushed aside a wave of misgivings and knocked.

“Enter,” Major Hassler’s smooth voice came.

His face neutral, Hogan opened the door. Normally he would take the offensive, asking and arguing why he was up this late, but he held back to see what the new officer would do.

“You called for me, sir?” Hogan said warily. 

Major Hassler still had on the crisp ironed uniform he was wearing earlier today, though his hat was perched on the coatrack nearest the door. He looked up from a pile of papers on his desk and Hogan had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the transparent deception to pretend he wasn’t waiting for the prisoner to arrive.

“Ah, Colonel Hogan,” Major Hassler said. “Please, take a seat.”

“Kommandant, I expect you have a good reason to get me up in the middle of the night. Has one of my men done something?”

“Would you like a glass of schnapps?” Major Hassler ignored the question.

Hogan eyed him, wondering what his game was. He was used to Klink’s more transparent machinations; it had been a while since he had been up against anyone who could hope to match wits with him. “No, thank you,” he said curtly. “I’d rather know why I’m up at three in the morning.”

“As you please,” Major Hassler said, pouring himself a glass. 

“Why am I here?”

“You are a very stubborn man.”

“I can be,” Hogan admitted. “When I’m up at three in the morning and no one will tell me what’s going on.”

“I had hoped to make this conversation more … civil,” Major Hassler said with a small smile as he sipped his drink. “There is no need for animosity.”

“Animosity? In a war?” Hogan said with a wry twist of his lips. “Color me shocked.”

“Colonel Hogan, you are a man of the world. I had the pleasure of reading your record today. It is most extensive.” He paused, looking at Hogan intensely. “Most impressive.”

“I know you didn’t wake me up just to flatter me, Major,” Colonel said, emphasizing the rank just a touch. 

“No, no, I did not.” Major Hassler pushed himself off of the small table near the window and paced behind his desk. “You are a direct man. I can appreciate that. I will not bore you. You have met, perhaps, men who … prefer the company of other men to the frauleins, ja?”

Hogan’s spine straightened, and he felt the small frisson of unease building in his chest. He may not have been very worldly when he entered the service, but it was hard to ignore the whispers in training, or, once, the subtle flirtations on one leave that were aimed not at the gorgeous waitress serving the table, but at himself. He did his best to distance himself from the rumors and the men who were the topic of them. “Yes,” he replied shortly. He didn’t know where this was going. Were one of his men caught doing…? He strangled that thought off before it could form.

“Germany does not believe such men exist,” Major Hassler said simply. He caught himself, lips quirking into his glass. “Or, rather, that they should not exist. There are rumors, then there are Gestapo, then one day, they disappear and are never heard from again. Do you understand?”

“I’m familiar with the way the Gestapo works,” Hogan said in a tight voice. He also had heard disquieting rumors about something far larger, and far darker, going on in the Third Reich than anyone knew. 

“Ja, I’m sure you are.” Major Hassler sounded pensive. He carefully set his glass down and did not look at Hogan. “Would you be surprised, Colonel Hogan, if I told you that I was one of these men?”

Not much shocked Hogan. It was his job to think of all eventualities and a back-up plan to cover them. He stared open-mouthed at Major Hassler, fighting down an instinctive wave of disgust. “You’re- you’re an invert?”

“I see that you do not care for such men,” Major Hassler said astutely. 

“I don’t care for Nazis in general, so don’t take it personally.” Hogan collected himself. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I was one of the few who saw what was happening. One of my companions, Friedrich Staltmeyer, was less cautious. He disappeared shortly before I transferred to Berlin. One day he was simply gone. Some other companions of his also disappeared, shortly after he was taken,” Major Hassler explained. The implication was not lost on Hogan. Friedrich had given them up after being tortured. Major Hassler continued, “He never knew my real name, which is the only reason I believe I am still here.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Hogan said cuttingly. “It still doesn’t explain why you’re telling me this.”

“Patience, Colonel Hogan. After Friedrich was taken, I had to cut all ties to that life. I hid, in other words. I dated the right frauleins, laughed at the right jokes, and was promoted to major. Can you imagine, Colonel Hogan? How it has been for me these years? Hiding, living in fear, being surrounded by all that I cannot have?”

“My heart bleeds.”

“I’m sure. But then one day, a certain dummkopf colonel goes on vacation, and they decide to give bright Gerhard a chance. And there is a man, staring at him, who reminds him so much of Friedrich.” Major Hassler circled closer to his chair and reached out, almost hesitantly. “So very handsome, and so very alone in friends.”

Hogan shot up, the chair clattering behind him. His hands balled into fists. “I’m nothing like you or your Friedrich,” he growled. 

“Nein,” Major Hassler breathed, not backing up or breaking his stare. “You are. You have the same black hair, the same dancing eyes.”

“Back off, Hassler.”

The major just shot a beatific smile at him. “You Americans have a saying, ja? I am, as you say it, the … fox in the chicken coop?” 

“This chicken bites,” Hogan warned, his fist itching. 

“Ah, but what of the other chickens? What would happen to them, I wonder? Do you know how easy it would be for the guards to roust one of them in the dead of night, lead them to the fence, and shoot them in the back? Shot while trying to escape. It’s amazing. These guards… I see them with your men. They are friendly, ja? But some, they are not so friendly. They grow bored of guarding the most secure prison camp in all of Germany.”

“I know your secret,” Hogan said in a low, dangerous voice. “You touch one of them and I’ll tell- “

“Tell them what?” Major Hassler said with a light laugh. “The word of an enemy prisoner, against that of a bright, disciplined major? No, Colonel Hogan. I did want this to be civil. But you are a smart man. You must see that I have all of the power here.” He held his hands up, almost helplessly. “I can do anything I want. And there is nothing you can do about it.”

He took a step forward, hand smoothing down the front of Hogan’s chest and idly playing with the first button there. “I told you that I can be direct, Colonel Hogan. These are your choices: come to my bed, tonight, and I will spare your men. Refuse, and they will be shot trying to escape. You seem awfully fond of that negro sergeant. Kinchloe, was it? He can be the first.”

Hogan stared at the man, fighting the urge to lay into him with a viciousness he hadn’t felt since he first was captured and left to the tender mercies of the Gestapo. His mind crawled, throwing out possible solutions and throwing them out before they could fully form. “I need… I need some time to think this over,” he said slowly.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid that will not be possible, Colonel Hogan,” Major Hassler said, smile unmoved. “You are quite intelligent. Too intelligent, I’m afraid. Given the chance, you might actually come up with a way out of this. I’m afraid I am intelligent, too. You have five minutes, then I call the guards. We will start with Sergeant Kinchloe. Perhaps that Englander, Newkirk, as well. His voice irritates me.”

“Fine,” Hogan said desperately. “Fine. Whatever… whatever you want. Just … don’t hurt my men.”

“Colonel,” Major Hassler said, moving forward and sliding his hand into Hogan’s hair to pull him into a bruising kiss. “I am a man of my word.”


	2. Chapter 2

Colonel Hogan finished buttoning his shirt, unable to ignore the feeling of Major Hassler’s eyes sweeping over his form from where he lay on the bed draped in the sheets. Ignoring the crawling sensation and feeling the need for a long shower and a trip to the delousing station, Hogan jammed his shirttails into his trousers. He grabbed his crush cap and shoved it onto his head as he grabbed the doorknob to leave.

Major Hassler’s voice stopped him. “Most satisfactory, Colonel Hogan.”

“I aim to please,” Hogan shot back without thinking. He winced when he realized that the sarcastic retort would probably just amuse the major. 

“And you did,” Major Hassler said. There was a rustling noise as the sheets shifted. “Next time, however, I expect you to be a more… active participant.”

Hogan nodded curtly and opened the door, a hitch in his gait as he exited the quarters. 

Schultz was standing outside of the Kommandant’s building, half-asleep and leaning heavily on his rifle butt. It was a good thing he usually forgot to keep the thing loaded. 

“Colonel Hogan,” he said worriedly, jogging to keep up with Hogan’s stride. “Is everything alright?”

“No, it isn’t,” Hogan said absently. His mind kept replaying what Major Hassler had said: “next time”. 

Schultz frowned, then brightened. “But it will be, ja? You will make a plan.”

Forcing a smile on his face, Hogan patted Schultz’s shoulder once. “Sure, Schultz. That’s what I always do, right?”

“Ja. But I want to know noth-ing! No-thing! Goodnight, Colonel Hogan.”

“Night, Schultz,” Hogan said, watching the affable guard wander off to complete his patrol. He paused in front of his barracks. Hopefully none of his men were awake at the ungodly hour. If one of them was awake, and asked him what happened… He shook his head. Why couldn’t he think? He could still feel Hassler’s hands on his shoulder, his hips, and the foul taste of German cigarettes in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open as quietly as he could and padded silently to his quarters. The deep snores of the men reassured him no one noticed his late night trip. 

And with any luck, he thought grimly, it would stay that way.

 

Morning came far too early the next day. Colonel Hogan was already awake and dressed before Schultz came in with his shouts for the men to leave the dubious comforts of their bunks and fall out for early roll call. The rest of the night had passed slowly, Hogan coming up with ideas and discarding them just as quickly. Hogan dearly wanted to take a Luger the next time - “next time”, Major Hassler’s voice came to him as he if he were standing right behind Hogan - and shoot the major and make it look like a suicide, but that plan was risky, and Hogan suspected it was his own feelings for revenge that fueled it. It was more fantasy than strategy. He could also ship the major to London, tell them that he was a threat to their operation, but the lack of information from anywhere was giving him pause. What if the major had friends in high places? He had to have at least one friend to have been assigned this cushy job while Klink was out on leave. The unknowns bothered him, but not as much as the deep ache that had settled in and reminded him of last night. 

“Colonel Hogan?” Schultz’s voice from outside his door caught his attention. “Colonel Hogan!”

“I’m up, Schultz,” he called, grabbing his bomber jacket and zipping it all the way up. Its bulky warmth gave him some small comfort. He opened the door and forced a grin on his face. “C’mon, Schultzie. Wouldn’t do to keep the new kommandant waiting, would it?”

His tone came out harsher than he realized, judging by the curious look Schultz and Kinch shot him as they filed out the door. Cursing himself, he let out some of the tension in his body. There was no need to bring the men into this. He certainly didn’t want them to start poking around and asking questions. For one, it was too dangerous for them. And privately he admitted he didn’t want them to know. Didn’t want them ever to know what he had done to keep them safe, and what had been done to him. The men had stood by him unfailingly, taking risks that could easily get any one of them shot at a moment’s notice or dragged away by the Gestapo, and - well, he thought wryly, he couldn’t say they never complained, but they always went along with his plans in the end. He couldn’t bear to lose their respect. 

Forcing a nonchalant stance, he stood in line and did his best to ignore the way Major Hassler’s eyes focused on him the entire roll call, even throwing out a droll reply when Major Hassler gave the opportunity.

“Dismissed!” Major Hassler said, turning on his heel to go back to the piles of paperwork Klink had left behind. 

The men scattered inside the barracks. His own team gathered around the stove: LeBeau doing his best to make a gourmet meal out of sawdust bread and powdered eggs, Newkirk ribbing him about his cooking, Carter chiming in to defend LeBeau, and Kinch watching it all and hiding his smile behind a cup of watered-down coffee left over from the last Red Cross package. The same scene had greeted Hogan for the past two years. Hogan would normally join them for breakfast, but today he felt exposed and raw. The last thing he needed was for one of them to notice. 

“No breakfast for you, mon colonel?” LeBeau asked, glancing up from the stove as he walked past. 

“I’m not too hungry today. Thanks, LeBeau,” he said, closing his quarters behind him.

Newkirk abruptly cut off his teasing when the door shut behind Hogan. “So what’s going on with the Colonel, then, gents?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t hear him this morning when Schultz came to grab him?” Kinch answered Carter, leaning back. “And that new major didn’t take his eyes off the colonel the entire time at roll call.”

“Well, he is the senior POW,” Carter pointed out reasonably. “Maybe he’s just interested in him.”

“Yes, but why?” Kinch rubbed his moustache. “I think I’m going to head down and see if London has responded to our question about good old Major Hassler.” 

“Bah, you are worried about nothing,” LeBeau said, dishing out the eggs and toast. “He’s a bureaucrat.”

“I don’t know what it’s like in your army, mate, but bureaucrats are the ones you ‘ave to watch out for in mine,” Newkirk said. 

“That’s true, boy,” Carter said, warming to the subject. “When I enlisted, I had to deal with this one guy and he kept telling me I needed four copies because it had to be in triplicate, and I said - “

They all listened to Carter’s story, pushing their worries about the new major and Colonel Hogan out of their mind. If there was a problem, Colonel Hogan always had a plan. 

 

London still hadn’t responded by the time evening roll call came around. Hogan had stayed confined to his quarters, only poking his head out occasionally to ask for an update from Kinch, his voice growing more strained and impatient the more times Kinch shook his head no. They were all feeling the pressure and a curiosity rising, until finally before lights out, LeBeau asked, “Why the worry, mon Colonel?”

Hogan hesitated. “It’s nothing,” he said, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Just a feeling.”

“Colonel?” Kinch asked, patiently waiting for Hogan to focus on him. It took longer than usual for Hogan to draw himself from his thoughts. “What if I reached out to the underground? Maybe they’ve heard of the guy.”

“That’s a good idea, Kinch. Let me know what they say.”

Kinch nodded and tapped the mechanism for the bunk, hoping to get the message out as soon as possible. Whatever was bothering the colonel was affecting all of them. Hogan disappeared back into his quarters, not even leaving before the last bedcheck to see if Kinch was back. Schultz glanced in and gave a cordial nod to Hogan before leaving. 

A few hours later, he came back and Hogan made his second late night journey across the compound to Major Hassler’s quarters.

 

“Message from the underground,” Kinch said, holding out the paper to his commanding officer. Hogan snatched it from his hands and read it quickly.

“He was an adjutant at Stalag 4,” Hogan said aloud for the benefit of his listening team. “Apparently this is his big chance for a promotion.”

“So what does that tell us?” Newkirk asked.

Hogan crossed his arms around himself, feeling weary from the last two nights lack of sleep. He idly wondered how Major Hassler was feeling, then buried that thought. The men exchanged glances, not missing the dark shadows under Colonel Hogan’s eyes or the way he seemed to be dragging. They chalked it up to worry over the mysterious new major, though privately they wondered why a Kraut bureaucrat was giving Colonel Hogan so much lost sleep. 

“Newkirk, I need a Gestapo uniform. Kinch, find out who the senior POW is at Stalag 4.” 

The men exchanged surprised glances. “Sir?” Carter asked. “Are we busting them out?”

“No, Carter,” Hogan said, shaking his head. “I need to talk to him.”

“About what, mon colonel?” LeBeau asked.

Hogan looked at their faces, noting the worry and concern in their expressions. He never tried to keep anything from the men; they deserved to know the risks as much as he did, and though he never doubted they would follow him blindly, he never wanted them to have to. But this was too dangerous. He needed them far away from this, and far away from Major Hassler. Right now, Major Hassler's focus was on him, and he needed to keep it that way in order to keep them safe. The past few nights, Hassler had made some innocuous comments designed to let Hogan know that he was not unaware of who Hogan's closest men were, and the veiled threat of what he would do to them if Hogan stepped out of line. 

“Need to know, Corporal,” he said curtly. 

“Sir, it will look pretty odd a Gestapo coming alone. Maybe one of us should go with you,” Kinch suggested.

“No. I have to go alone. Newkirk?”

“On it, guv’nor,” Newkirk said quietly, reluctantly headed to the tunnel to see what they had in stock.

“You going out tonight, Colonel?” Kinch asked.

“Yes,” Hogan said immediately, then realized the problem with the plan. “No, wait. It’d be better if I go today after noon roll call.”

“But that’s dangerous!” Carter blurted out.

“Isn’t it always, Carter?” Hogan said wryly.

“Yeah, but -"

“I think what Carter is trying to say,” Kinch interrupted, “is that that’s pretty risky. Why can’t you push it until tonight, sir?”

Hogan wished he could tell them the truth, but imagining the look on their faces if they knew made his breath catch. Thankfully, his mind had sluggishly thrown up at least one idea, and he prayed that they accepted it. “Major Hassler apparently is aware of Major Hochstetter’s conviction that I am responsible for the sabotage around Stalag 13.” They all grinned at this, before the smile slid from Hogan’s face. “He’s been sending Schultz to grab me at all hours of the night to interrogate me on my involvement. I can’t risk not being here for the next one.”

“But, sir, why didn’t you tell us?” Carter looked heartbroken at the thought of his commanding officer being woken up every night to endure endless interrogations.

Hogan instictively reached out to pat Carter’s shoulder before tucking his arms around himself instead. “It’s nothing I’m not used to, Carter. And Major Hassler’s methods are... “ He trailed off. “He’s not the Gestapo, let’s put it that way. Just hoping that I’ll let something slip to put a feather in his cap. If it gets rid of Klink, too, then he’ll have a shot at taking over permanently.”

“Sir, why don’t you let one of us go instead to Stalag 4?” Kinch said. “If Major Hassler is really putting the pressure on, it’d be safer. We’ll find out what you need to know.”

“Thanks for the offer, Kinch, but no,” Hogan said. “This is something I need to do. Alone.”


	3. Chapter 3

Captain McIntire watched with interest as the staff car pulled into camp, parking in front of the Kommandant’s office. A tall, trim man in a black Gestapo uniform exited the vehicle and made his way to the kommandant’s office.

“Problem, Captain?” one of his men, Sergeant Brakewills asked. He threw a baseball against the wall of the barracks before catching it in his baseball mitt, the steady rhythm belying the way his eyes followed the captain and the new arrival. 

“Don’t know. Might be nothing,” Captain McIntire said, leaning against the wall of the barracks. His posture was relaxed and unworried, but his men caught the way his eyes never left the tall Gestapo officer’s form. He watched as the kommandant and Gestapo agent exchanged obligatory heil Hitlers, then gestured to the prisoners, most of whom had stopped to watch the break in routine. The officer pointed angrily over to where he was standing, and he watched as the kommandant shook his head repeatedly. The raised voices were too indistinct to catch out, but it was obvious when the kommandant crumpled and waved two guards over to his direction.

“Sir?” Private Seawell was alert and ready for an order.

“Stand down,” Captain McIntire said, already pushing away from the barracks. “Let’s see what this Kraut wants.”

“Yes, sir,” the men mumbled.

Two guards came over and gestured at the captain with their rifles, a malicious glint in their eyes making it clear that they were not afraid to use them if needed.

“At ease, gentlemen,” the captain said with a cocky grin more for his men than the guards. “I’m coming.”

He was led to the cooler where the Gestapo agent stood waiting. With a careless wave, the Gestapo officer informed the guards that he was to be left alone with the prisoner and sent them away. McIntire studied the man: tall with dark hair and dark eyes, square jaw, and a thin moustache above his lip. The man seemed unconcerned with the prisoner and took a moment to pace around the small cell, running his hands over the cage surrounding the light fixture and blinking into the bulb. McIntire studied him curiously as he made his rounds.

“You going to tell me what this is about?” the captain finally said, tired of the waiting game.

“Silence! You will not speak unless spoken to, _Schwein_!” the officer roared. McIntire held his hands up in a peace-keeping gesture before tucking them back into his pockets. Internally his mind raced: the escape committee had a few plans in place, but nothing that would attract the attention of the Gestapo, and the kommandant nor the guards had found any trace of the beginnings of the tunnel. He had been in Stalag 4 for a 8 months now, and any information he had about Allied troops would be useless - not that he would talk anyway. 

_Name, rank, and serial number_ , he thought to himself. He braced himself for the interrogation to come. 

The Gestapo man had apparently finished his examination of the room and turned to him. In an American accent, he asked quietly, “You’re Captain McIntire, senior POW?”

The captain blinked in surprise. “Yes, sir,” he said cautiously.

“Good. Look, we don’t have much time. I’m a friend,” he said. 

“No offense, but how the hell am I supposed to believe that?”

The man ran a hand through his hair. “I get your hesitation, Captain, but I can’t tell you much for your own safety, and mine. The only thing I can tell you is that I’m from Stalag 13. Ring any bells?” The man searched his face for recognition, and McIntire worked to keep his face clear.

“It might,” he conceded. “Toughest POW camp in all of Germany. No escapes.” 

“Right. But let me guess: you’ve been told that if you’re ever to escape, you’re to head there and ask for Papa Bear.”

Captain McIntire stared at the man. “How do you know that?”

“Like I said, Captain, need-to-know. And right now my need is greater than yours. I had to convince the kommandant to let me speak to you alone, hence the get-up. I need information about an adjutant that’s been working here. Major Gerhard Hassler.”

McIntire felt his entire body turn cold. “What kind of information?”

The man’s eyes searched his, and judging by the pained look that crossed his face, he wasn’t surprised by what he found there.

“Sit down, Captain,” he said, gesturing to the hard plank that served as a bed. McIntire sat down slowly, not taking his eyes off the man. He began to pace. “Major Hassler has recently come to Stalag 13 and has been making a lot of waves. We think he’s bucking for a promotion. But he also called our senior POW to his quarters the other night to make a … proposition.”

The man paused, lost in his own thoughts.

McIntire cleared his throat. “What were the options?”

“He could go along with what the Major suggested, or his men could be shot ‘trying to escape’.”

“What’d your man decide?” McIntire asked softly.

“You don’t need to know that,” the man grated out. “But I needed to find out if he…”

“Has he done the same thing here,” McIntire finished. The man reluctantly nodded. McIntire ran a hand over his face, feeling tired and worn. When Kommandant Kleb had announced that Major Hassler was leaving, he felt a weight released from his shoulders. He still woke up in the night, expecting to feel the rough hands of the guards escorting him from his bunk to the delousing station. It was always eerie and dark at night, and was far enough away from the main barracks that no one could hear if there were cries of pain or the soft sound of sobs. The men never knew. No one, not even the camp kommandant, knew. 

“Captain?” the man prompted. 

McIntire focused on the bars of the cell, refusing to make eye contact. He could hear the man shifting uncomfortably, and a sudden insight filled him with dread.

The man started to speak, then faltered. In a voice barely a whisper, he tried again. “You asked what the senior POW decided.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

There was a pause. Then: “He protected his men.”

McIntire nodded wearily and collected his thoughts for a moment, pushing aside the wave of grief that welled up inside him. “Then he’s a better man than I was, sir. I called his bluff. The next day, Corporals Listerman and Poe were shot trying to escape. The Jerries said they tried to go over the wire during a game of volleyball.”

He had to strain to hear the soft reply. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I, sir, so am I.” They remained in silence for a moment, Captain McIntire thinking of Corporal Listerman’s good-natured teasing and Poe’s quiet naivete. He wondered what men the dark-haired man was thinking of right now. 

“Sir?” he finally said.

“Yes, Captain?”

“What are you going to do about it?” Something in the man’s quiet distress, and the uncommon bravery he had shown not just waltzing into camp in broad daylight in a Gestapo uniform, but the way he had admitted to what Captain McIntire couldn’t bear to think about even to himself, told him that this man could do what he himself could not. It gave him a glimmer of hope. They knew Major Hassler was due back in two weeks, and the reprieve hadn’t given him the relief he thought it would. Instead, his mind was constantly torn with foreboding of what would happen when the major returned.

“Whatever needs to be done. Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

The man nodded shortly and walked to the cell door, preparing to summon the guards.

“Sir?” Captain McIntire said in a thin voice. The man paused and tilted his head slightly to hear the captain without looking at him. Captain McIntire swallowed, hoping his suspicion was misplaced. “Your man. The senior POW.”

“What about him?”

“You did the right thing.”

 

“Any problems, Colonel?” LeBeau asked, helping Colonel Hogan out of his uniform. Daylight escapes were always tricky, but a conveniently timed work detail had given the opportunity, despite Major Hassler’s revived security. A few well-placed chocolate bars had helped smooth things along with Sergeant Schultz, despite his pale face and stammered protests when he had seen Hogan changing into the Gestapo uniform. 

“Plenty. But none getting in there or back here,” Hogan said, thinking over his bleak conversation with Captain McIntire. The man’s haunted face when he had asked about Major Hassler had told him everything he needed to know. With a nod for LeBeau’s help, he changed back into his regular uniform and zipped up the jacket.

“All clear, Schultz,” he said cheerfully, stepping out from behind the car. LeBeau worked stowing the uniform into a package taped to the inside of the wheel well to be retrieved later when they got back into camp. 

“Colonel Hogan,” Schultz moaned. “I wish you would not do these things! Why can you not be an ordinary prisoner?”

“C’mon, Schultz, where would be the fun in that?” Hogan played along. “Think about how boring your life would be.”

“Colonel Hogan, I _like_ my life to be boring,” Schultz disagreed. 

With a false grin, Hogan gestured to the newly cleared road. “Looks like the men did a good job. Time to get back to camp.”

The mission complete, the trip back to camp was uneventful, though Hogan’s mind was tossing over what he had found during his excursion into Stalag 4. His thoughts were unusually grim. Hassler threatening he and his men was bad enough, but he had hoped to find out it was a bluff. An unusually good one, perhaps, but one he could call. Captain McIntire’s story had put paid to that. Hogan briefly closed his eyes at the thought of losing two men under his command. The men could sometimes pull stunts that made him want to throttle them, but to be brutally slain over nothing they did was unthinkable. 

A bump in the road rocked the car, and he felt Kinch’s hand brace his shoulder to keep him from being jostled against the door. Without thinking, he flinched away from the contact, his shoulder hitting the window hard enough to make him wince. Kinch’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You okay?”

“Sorry, Kinch. Yeah, I’m fine. You startled me is all.”

“Sure, Colonel,” Kinch said dubiously. Hogan knew that he was thinking over what Hogan’s mission was, and why he had taken such a risk to get into Stalag 4 right away. Kinch was reliable, but he was also the one in the most danger. Hassler had seen the way Hogan leaned on Kinch and knew he was a weak spot. It was better for everyone if Hogan distanced himself from his men until he did what had to be done.

He couldn’t afford to wait for London any longer. Major Hassler had to die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I am deliberately not making any part of this graphic, this scene does have more explicit hints at what's going on, so please tread carefully if this is likely to bother you.
> 
> And thank you to those who left kudos and comments! I appreciate your support. This is not like any story I've written before, and I appreciate the encouragement, particularly as I know it takes me a while to update.

Hogan stayed in his office making plans, oblivious to the conversation going on in the general barracks. 

“He flinched,” Kinch said in a grim voice. 

“Maybe he really was just caught by surprise,” Carter said, his eyes wide and full of hope. “He hasn’t been getting much sleep lately, what with all those interrogations Major Hassler is giving him.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why he needed to go to Stalag 4 suddenly, or why he couldn’t send somebody else.”

“It could.” Kinch tapped his chin. “Maybe the major is putting him through more than what Colonel Hogan let on, so he had to see if the same thing was happening at Stalag 4.”

“You think the colonel’s hidin’ injuries?” Newkirk asked, not entirely surprised. The colonel was notorious for downplaying his injuries, not wanting to alarm his men. The man was intensely private. Even after two years, the men knew only the basics of his personal history. They had quickly found that need for privacy often extended to injuries, even when he insisted that the others be checked over by their camp medic, Wilson. While not technically a chief medical officer, Wilson was the closest thing they had and he was more than willing to bully the colonel a little into accepting help, whether he thought he needed it or not.

“He hasn’t had any bruises,” LeBeau said doubtfully.

“Not that we can see anyway,” Newkirk said, throwing down his cards in disgust and fumbling for a cigarette. He shoved the poorly rolled cigarette into the corner of his mouth, voice distorted as he tried to light it and talk at the same time. “And wouldn’t that make sense? A surprise inspection comes to check on how the new major is doing, and a prisoner has bruises all over. Best not to let anybody see.”

“Oui, that sounds like the dirty Bosche,” LeBeau agreed. 

“Gee, those rotten Krauts,” Carter said angrily. “Why, we oughta - “

“Hold it,” Kinch said, holding up his hands for quiet. He glanced at the closed door of Hogan’s quarters and motioned for them to lean closer. “This is all supposition. The colonel’s playing it close to his vest right now, and he more or less or ordered us to stay out of it.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, mate,” Newkirk said with a sharp grin. “But ‘more or less’ is a bit wibbly to me. More of a less, if you get me drift.”

“You want to tell the colonel that?” Kinch raised an eyebrow.

They all sighed and studied the table. Hogan rarely had to issue direct orders, knowing that his men would follow his lead without him having to explicitly tell them to. It was part of what made him such a good commanding officer, and it was also exactly the reason they were in this mess. 

“So what do we do, Kinch?” Carter asked, defaulting to Kinch as their de facto leader. 

“I say we do a little reconnaissance. When the guards come to get Colonel Hogan tonight, we’ll listen in on the coffeepot to find out how hard Major Hassler is turning the screws.”

“And if he is torturin’ the guv’nor?” Newkirk said with a dark look.

Kinch shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. “Then we figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

 

Hogan rubbed his forehead, feeling the lack of sleep over the past few days and the stress forming a headache behind his right eye. Shooting the major would draw the guards, and whoever grabbed him from bed tonight would be the first to point a finger at him as the obvious culprit. If Newkirk could forge a suicide note… but then he would have to explain why. He was planning on telling the men that the major had a sadistic side and let them draw their own conclusions. The “interrogations” that he had told them Hassler was conducting would pique their attention more than he was comfortable with, but he was reasonably sure he could sidestep Wilson. Still. He didn’t want them getting involved even that much.

He could smother the man after tonight’s rendezvous, but he wasn’t sure how to hide the body or explain what happened. The Krauts would never believe that an up-and-coming major would suddenly decide to go AWOL.

The beginnings of a plan were forming in the back of his mind, but he would need to contact General Burkhalter and concoct a reason for him to visit the stalag. It was risky, riskier than he would like. What was the alternative? He waited out the next two weeks, and then Major Hassler would go straight back to Stalag 4, where Captain McIntire would be in the crossfire again. Or worse, Major Hassler would be promoted and be in charge of his own camp, where he would have free rein to abuse any of the prisoners he liked. 

A third possibility opened itself, one that haunted him. Major Hassler would somehow convince General Burkhalter to get rid of Klink and install him as permanent camp kommandant. The thought made his stomach churn. The uneasy rest that had come to him the night before made itself known in the whispered memory of a deceptively genteel voice in his ear, treating him more like a cherished lover than a prisoner to circumstance. He shuddered and banished the thought. He didn’t have time to deal with the nightmares, not when they were still out there, stalking the compound and awaiting tonight.

Making a decision, he opened the door to the outer barracks. The men stopped talking, and he spared a thought that they were probably discussing his recent mood change. He hoped that they would blame it on the lack of sleep. Newkirk had a cigarette dangling from his lips, crushed between worried fingers. LeBeau and Carter looked up from the sink, where Carter was dutifully washing while LeBeau dried them off. Kinch gave him an even stare that he did his best to ignore, unable to meet his unofficial second-in-command’s eyes. 

“Something we can help you with, mon Colonel?” LeBeau asked, wringing a towel between his hands. 

Hogan sighed and grabbed a cup from the table. LeBeau immediately filled it with coffee and Hogan spared him a smile of thanks. “I had a talk with the senior POW at Stalag 4 today and he shared some interesting things.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Colonel,” Newkirk said. 

“Apparently Major Hassler is more dangerous than he appeared. He conducted private interrogations at Stalag 4, as well.” Hogan wavered, hoping he wasn’t giving too much away. Too much, and his men would start to suspect something more. But just a little bit of truth, to sell the lie… “Apparently when the good captain refused to cooperate, Hassler shot two of his men.”

The men were silent at the news. For all the jokes about Stalag 13 and the amazing feats they accomplished, they were all acutely aware that any misstep, or simply an ambitious young officer, could mean death for any one of them. 

“Now you understand why you can’t be anywhere near this,” Hogan said after a pause. “I can’t risk any of you getting hurt or killed.”

“But Colonel-”

Hogan held up a hand. “No buts, Carter. This is important. After my talk with Captain McIntire, I knew we couldn’t let Major Hassler return to Stalag 4, or anywhere else. Now I have a plan to get rid of him, but it’s going to be tricky.”

“Best kind, sir,” Newkirk said with a small smile. “What do we need?”

“Newkirk, you think you can imitate Major Hassler’s voice on the phone?” 

“I can give it a try.”

“Good. Kinch, you’ll need to make a call to General Burkhalter from ‘Major Hassler’ to get him to schedule a visit to camp. Make it good. He wants the general to know what a good job he’s doing, so play on that.”

“Righto, sir.”

“Got it, Colonel.”

“The second part of this is we have to discredit Major Hassler. Make him look so bad in front of Burkhalter that he has no choice but to be sent to the Russian front. We need some volunteers to ‘escape’. LeBeau, Carter, I want you to feel out the men and see who is willing.”

“Oui, mon Colonel.”

“You got it, boy! I mean, sir.” LeBeau shot Carter a look and shook his head. 

Hogan rolled his neck, trying to loosen the knots forming in his shoulders. “This is going to be a bit more complicated than our average escape. Major Hassler isn’t the type to hold back. If he thinks the men are trying to escape, he’ll shoot them without question to keep a black mark off his record. They need to be extra careful on this one. We’ll sneak them into the tunnel, but someone needs to cut the wire to make it look like they got out that way.”

“How soon do you want this done, Colonel?” Kinch asked.

“Immediately. The sooner we can get rid of this Major Hassler, the better,” Hogan said darkly. “As soon as we get the word Burkhalter is coming in, we’ll set it in motion. Everyone know what they’re doing?”

A round of ‘yes, sir’s and ‘sure, Colonel’s echoed around the table. He looked around at his crew, feeling as proud of his team as the first time they rescued a group of fliers. Not once had they balked at the danger, and Hogan felt a deep wash of shame for lying to them. It had to be done, he reminded himself. He just wished he knew if he was doing this to save them, or save himself.

 

Kinch lay awake in his bunk, staring at the boards above him. He could hear the others in the barracks snoring softly or shifting in their sleep. His own eyes begged him for a little rest, but he needed to be awake when the guard came for Hogan. He chanced a look at the bunk across from him, catching a glint of eyes in the darkness; he wasn’t the only one awake. LeBeau, Newkirk, and Carter were also waiting for the inevitable. 

Doubts crowded his thoughts, second-guessing their plan. Colonel Hogan had told them to stay out of it, but he couldn’t just wait while the Krauts took him away every night to do God knows what to him. The colonel’s plan wasn’t the most elaborate scheme they had ever pulled off, but it certainly felt more dangerous. Colonel Hogan usually joked around with his men, but today he was unaccountably serious. His news of the two prisoners shot at Stalag 4 had explained the change in his demeanor, but they had faced death every time they slipped out the emergency tunnel to commit an act of sabotage. Something about this one felt different. Still, Kinch’s lip twitched as he remembered Newkirk’s excellent impersonation of the new major kommandant, and Burkhalter’s agreement to visit the camp three days from now. If all went according to plan, Major Hassler would be gone within three days, and everything could go back to normal.

He turned over, punching the mattress in an effort to make it more pliable. If everything was going to plan, why was he so worried? Maybe because he had a feeling that Colonel Hogan was holding something back from all of them. One of the reasons he trusted Colonel Hogan so much was because he had never lied to his men, never downplayed the risks of what they did, even when they themselves had grown cocky. He never sent his men out to do something he himself wouldn’t do. Kinch had commanding officers before who viewed men like him as expendable. Colonel Hogan never had. 

_What are you hiding, Colonel?_ he wondered. 

 

It was 0230 when the guard came. Newkirk had done his best to stave off sleep, but found himself jolting awake when he heard the distinctive tread against the wood floor, and the creak of the door to Hogan’s quarters. He shut his eyes and pretended to be sound asleep as he heard the familiar sound of a bomber jacket being zipped up, then a murmur of voices as the guards left with the colonel. He waited for a count of ten before opening his eyes again, making eye contact with Kinch and hopping out of bed. 

Sliding as quietly as he could, he eased the door to the barracks open, just able to make out the two men walking across the compound to the kommandant’s office in the darkness. 

He nodded to the others, and they padded their way to Hogan’s quarters and plugged in the coffee pot. 

_Let’s see how bad this really is, guv’nor,_ Newkirk thought to himself. 

They all waited silently to find out what the colonel didn’t want them to know.

“You rang, Major?” Colonel Hogan’s voice came over the speaker.

“Come in, Colonel. That will be all,” Major Hassler said. Each of them could picture the guard saluting sharply before leaving. There was a clinking of glasses. 

“Are you sure you would not like some, Colonel? Kommandant Klink may not be the brightest, but he does have excellent taste in schnapps.”

The men exchanged relieved glances. Surely it couldn’t be that bad, if the major was offering him some of Klink’s finest schnapps.

“No. Why don’t we get this over with, _Major_ ,” Colonel Hogan snarled the man’s rank. 

“You are an impatient man,” Major Hassler said in a mild voice. “One would even say eager.”

Hogan didn’t reply to that. 

“I admit, I find myself being… disappointed by your performance the past nights. I did tell you I wanted a more active participant.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Hogan’s voice sounded more bitter than any of the men had heard. 

“Oh, but Colonel, remember your men. You’ve given up so much already. Why waste what you’ve sacrificed by being stubborn now? It would be a shame after all this they met with an unfortunate accident trying to escape.”

The men looked at each other. What did he mean by ‘given up so much already’? Was the colonel feeding him secrets? None of them believed for a second that the colonel would actually talk; if he had, they would all be dead already. The colonel had fed the Germans false information before, but if that was his plan, why have Burkhalter arrive? Why not tell them?

There was a lull in the conversation inside the kommandant’s office, then a clinking sound like a glass being set on the desk. 

“Come here, Colonel.” The imperiousness in the major’s voice rankled the men, and Newkirk growled in frustration. LeBeau sneered at the coffee pot as if the major would notice. The major’s voice softened as he continued. “You are so beautiful. I want to see you on your knees.”

Kinch’s face froze in stunned realization. Newkirk covered his face with his hands. LeBeau’s expression twisted into a mask of horror. Carter was frowning deeply.

“You are quite handsome, Colonel,” the major continued in an amused tone, oblivious to the effect the conversation was having on the men crowded in the barracks. “I’m sure you had a whole bevy of ladies at your disposal as a pilot. Surely one of them gave you an idea of what to do.”

They held their breath as the conversation faltered, broken only by the occasional sounds of the major purring endearments and the colonel gagging and retching, confirming their fears. With a vicious tug, Kinch unplugged the coffee pot and shoved it aside. They sat silently in the small room, no one wanting to be the first to say anything. 

LeBeau’s face was pale when he looked up. “Kinch… what do we do?”

Kinch shook his head, feeling exhausted and beaten down. In his worst fears, he hadn’t expected this, and he suddenly felt burdened by the expectations of the men looking at him for a plan. _Is this how you feel, Colonel?_ he thought. 

“I say we murder the ruddy bastard,” Newkirk growled.

“Kinch?” Carter’s face was full of hope, like he would have an idea. 

“We can’t do anything,” Kinch said sharply. “We can’t say anything, either. The colonel… The colonel never wanted us to know this. We _shouldn’t_ know this.”

“But we do know,” Newkirk pointed out. 

“And if we kill him before Burkhalter comes? What then? Who’s going to believe that he just happened to walk into a bullet right before a general comes to visit?”

“We can’t do nothing!” Carter protested.

“I know, Carter. And we won’t. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do tonight, and if Colonel Hogan finds out we heard…” His voice broke off. The others stared at him bleakly. Kinch squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “If it had happened to any of us, would you want anyone to know? Because I would bury it so deep not even my own mother would be able to pry it out of me.”

“So we’re gonna let that bloody monster -” Newkirk started, but LeBeau cut him off. 

“Non! Kinch is right. If we do anything tonight, we put the colonel in danger.”

“He’s doing this to protect us,” Kinch said. “You heard what he said. Two of our guys got shot in Stalag 4, probably because their CO said no. We can’t say or do anything right now. The best thing we can do is regroup tomorrow and figure out a plan.”

LeBeau’s eyes glimmered. “A plan?”

Kinch stared at him evenly. “I don’t know about you guys, but there’s no way I’m letting Colonel Hogan go through two more nights of this.”

 

Hogan tore out of the office, ignoring Corporal Langenscheidt’s worried calls. He paused to rest against the building, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He felt his stomach turn over and braced himself against the building, heaving the meager remains of his supper onto the ground. Shuddering, he pushed himself up to a standing position, fighting away the memory of cool hands running through his hair and across his jawline, of the soft encouragements whispered in his ear. Would it be easier, he wondered, if the man beat him bloody and forced him? Would it make it better, if he were able to grit his teeth and bear it instead of playing along with the major's game to save his men? Covering his face with his hands and unsurprised to find tears, he sank to the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Colonel Hogan?” Corporal Langenscheidt’s voice called out from the darkness. “Colonel Hogan? Are you alright?”

“ ‘m fine,” Hogan muttered from under his hands. Forcing a small smile on his face, he looked up into the concerned corporal’s face. “Just feeling a little under the weather right now is all.”

Corporal Langenscheidt looked doubtful, but then nodded slowly. “You can stay here for a moment, Colonel. I will stay nearby so none of the others bother you.”

Hogan felt unaccountably moved by the offer. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he nodded and thanked the man hoarsely. Corporal Langenscheidt leaned forward to pat his shoulder, then seemed to think better of it, and simply gave him a warm smile and nod before standing several paces away to leave him to his privacy. Colonel Hogan tucked his arms around himself, staring out into the darkness. 

It was bad enough that his men had noticed something was wrong, but if even Schultz and Langenscheidt were beginning to worry, he wasn’t doing as good a job covering as he thought. _Pull yourself together, Rob. There’s nothing you can do sitting out here._ Despite the fierce encouragements, his limbs refused to cooperate. His entire body felt leaden. _Two more nights,_ he reassured himself. _Two more nights, then Burkhalter will send that sick son of a bitch to the Russian front._

He expected the reminder of the plan to give him comfort; instead, he just felt a rush of despair so deep that he thought his soul would break from it.


End file.
